


Camping 101

by J_P_R_Smith



Series: Adventures in Pyromania [1]
Category: Fallout - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_P_R_Smith/pseuds/J_P_R_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I can say is it includes how to start a fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camping 101

A lone man in an old suit and fedora stepped over the crest of a bare, dusty hill. His face was red and covered with burns, his hair the color of charcoal. His piercing blue eyes surveyed the landscape from their seat atop his long nose. His muscular build and broad shoulders suggested years of lifting and sustaining heavy weights, while his slender frame implied an agile man, quick on his feet and ready to spring at any time. In his powerful grip he had slung over his shoulder a bundle on a stick, looking like a traveling homeless person from the pre-war days. That was true enough; he had not needed or wanted a place to call home in quite along time, instead surviving rather detached from civilization out in the wastes. He continued onward with a fire in his eyes and a grin on his face. He had been hunting for a while, and the hunt was nearly over. His obvious lack of weaponry did not concern him, for he had light weapons concealed on his person at all times, and several hidden heavier weapon caches scattered throughout the wastes. He was, in fact, heading to one of these caches right then. He stopped by a large rock with the engraving of a solitary flame and a grinning skull. This was the stash. He opened up the hollowed rock. He extracted from it a set of T-51b power armor, a flame thrower, and a M4A1 assault carbine. He donned the power armor, slung the flamer fuel tank over his back, and slung the carbine likewise. This small group, a very minute amount left of Ceaser's Legion, were doomed. He crept to the edge of a nearby cliff, for he was at a rather high vantage point and surveyed the land below with a pair of binoculars. The grin faded from the man’s face when he saw that his targets had hostages.  
“Brilliant,” he said under his breath. “Now I have to do the messy work.”  
The man pulled out three remote detonators and pushed the button labeled “arm.”  
Three fourths of the valley below exploded in a holocaust of fire. The man ran down with his flamer drawn and ran straight through the fire. The area where the hostages were had been spared, for the fourth set of incendiary mines the man placed were not activated. Of course, that also meant there were more legionaries to deal with. He popped his head into a tent to find that it was filled with legion troops. Bullets bounced off his armor as he poured fire onto all legionaries present. He did likewise with several other tents before he released the hostages and activated the last of the mines. He left the site to burn. The camp burned for three days.  
That man was a legend, a ghost of the wastes, causing fire and death to all who harmed others, known only as The Pyro.


End file.
